


Break

by CorvidFightClub



Series: Life in the Crime Scene [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Multi, Panic attack?, a lot of casual misogyny, eventual D/s, eventual mchanzo, some unwelcome touching by multiple people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 18:19:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16434428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorvidFightClub/pseuds/CorvidFightClub
Summary: Uncle Suko pushes his luck and makes an enemy.





	Break

**Author's Note:**

> Yooo. This is in the tags as well, but there's a lot of casual misogyny from Uncle Suko and Hanzo gets touched against his will by people he doesn't know.

Hanzo knew the knots in the wooden beams over his bed by heart. There were eight of them, most of which were unremarkable, except for the ones pronounced enough that they resembled eyes. Oni trapped in the wood, he’d thought as a child. Instead of being afraid, he had wished for them to escape, to caper with him around the room at night. “You are fearsome, Hanzo,” they would say, “Not since the days of the samurai have we seen your like!” 

 

Away they would go, never to be seen by the clan again, and glad of it. 

 

Childhood dreams he had not thought of in years. 

 

For the barest moment, he wished the oni still would take him away. Hanzo sat up in bed and drove his fist into his pillow, once, twice, again before bowing his head. Exhausted, every inch of him sore, every synapse dim from trying to force sleep by subjecting himself to long hours of training. 

 

He looked blearily at his chair and anger welled up in him. Hanzo refused to spend another night reading and smoking. Pushing himself to his feet, he padded to the bathroom, flicked on the light, and yanked the cabinet mirror open. The antihistamine sat in its unassuming amber bottle and he stood there, despising it. Then he sagged, the tension running out of him. Hanzo took up the bottle, shook a pill into his hand and swallowed it dry. 

 

Obstinate, he returned to bed instead of his chair, stretching out under the cool sheets. The pills would work, he assured himself. They would make him sleep and stop this grueling cycle that was slowly driving him mad. 

 

_ “No promises, but I might have an idea how to help you.” _

 

Hanzo shut his eyes, willing the drug to work faster and forget the certainty McCree had spoken with. It remained, a twisting, niggling thing long after the pill had started lulling him closer to sleep.  _ What does he know? How does he know? What would he do? _

 

_ Nothing. He knows nothing and only thinks he has answers,  _ Hanzo snapped back at himself. Even if McCree did, Hanzo would never subject himself to something so perverse. Not to mention the scandal if the Elders caught wind of it. They would be furious. The ancestors themselves would wail and wring their hands in the afterlife. 

Hanzo woke with his mind shrouded in fog thicker than that on Mount Fuji. He sent a servant running to the dojo to explain his absence as a severe headache and went to the kitchen instead. After obtaining strong tea, he tucked himself away in a corner seat behind one of the room partitions, listening to the cooks starting their breakfast routines. Even though he’d slept, Hanzo felt as though he could put his head down on the low table and sleep until afternoon.

 

Age spotted hands deposited a bowl of miso and rice in front of him. Hanzo grunted his thanks, taking another sip of his tea. He would thank baa-san later with a bottle of pineapple Ramune. He’d tucked into the soup when a ruckus started in the kitchen behind him. Uncle Suko hurried out of the kitchen, Kazue hot on his heels and brandishing a rice paddle. 

 

“And stay out! Scoundrel,” she huffed.

 

Uncle Suko held his hands up. “But she is so round. I am merely showing her my appreciation!”

 

Baa-san waited for Suko to back away further before turning her back on him to continue with meal preparations. As soon as she was out of sight, Suko made a rude gesture at her back. Hanzo sat as still as he could manage, willing Uncle Suko to leave without noticing him. Luck wasn’t with him. Uncle Suko took the cushion next to him. 

 

“You employ such angry women!” Uncle Suko griped, tapping his knuckles against Hanzo’s arm. 

 

Hanzo held himself back from snatching Uncle Suko’s hand away and breaking his fingers. He disliked people touching him as a rule. Too many doctors as a child. Too many servants adjusting and primping and smoothing. “Kazue and her family have served the family for generations,” Hanzo replied with a hint of reproach. As much as he desired to throw Suko out on his ear, his branch of the family was old and their connections many. Unless Uncle Suko railed against him directly, Hanzo could do nothing but bite his tongue and bide his time.  

 

Uncle Suko was picking at his teeth. “I need you to squeeze Honoka for me. She’s late on her payments.” 

 

“You are more than capable of doing so yourself, uncle,” Hanzo replied, hands curled around his tea cup and imagining it was Suko’s thin neck instead. Ancillary family ran the clubs and brothels; it wasn’t something he or Sojiro had concerned themselves with.

 

“That’s not the point,” Uncle Suko snapped back. “That bitch needs to be reminded she’s dealing with Shimada-gumi, not just me.”

 

“ _ You _ should be enough. Your lack of consistency undermines you, Uncle.”

 

“I have already petitioned the rest of the elders.” Suko gave him a smug smile. “They agree you should be the one to take care of this.”

 

Hanzo set down his tea with deliberate care. “Then I shall have words with them.”

 

When confronted, the elders were more adamant that Hanzo do this errand than he’d anticipated. He’d left their presence after twenty minutes of argument, jaw clenched hard enough to give him a headache. A car would be ready for him that evening. He was to retrieve the funds owed and make certain there would be no late payments in the future. 

 

By the time the evening bell chimed, signifying the car would be ready in fifteen minutes, Hanzo’s anger had become a boiling sea. This errand, for it was errand, was far beneath his station. Laughably so. Suko knew it, damn him, and took pleasure in having Hanzo play it out. He had even waved from the top of the stairs when the gleaming black car pulled away from the castle with Hanzo seething in its rear seat. After closing the privacy window between himself and the driver, Hanzo proceeded to smoke two cigarettes in succession, readjust his gun holster, then palm his favorite knife and flick it from hand to hand, twisting it around his knuckles, snapping it closed then open again. 

 

He would punish Suko for this, somehow.

 

The club was a monstrosity of glass, neon, and metal, a bright front for the brothel run out of the hotel a street beyond it. One could easily swim the dance floor crowds to find a suitable companion, then exit through the back and arrive a short walk later to rent a room for a few hours or a night. 

 

Hanzo left the car close by with the driver, his bodyguards lengthening their strides to keep up with him. He circumvented the club entirely and made straight for the hotel. The man working the front desk eyed them suspiciously. “Do you have an appointment? A booking?”

 

“I will speak with Honoka,” Hanzo replied. “I will not ask twice.”

 

The man narrowed his eyes, “What’s the name?”

 

“Shimada Hanzo.”

 

Predictably, the man reached for his gun. His aim was sluggish. Hanzo pushed the gun to one side and twisted it away from the man. Dropping the magazine from it with a smart click, Hanzo struck the man across the face with the grip, sending him reeling back from the desk. 

 

“T-Top floor,” the man sobbed, cradling his broken nose. “End of the hall.”

 

Hanzo passed off the empty gun to one of his bodyguards on the way to the elevator. 

 

The top floor hallway was lit by trails of red lanterns and other small strings of lights, the dimness warm and lush. There was a scent in the air Hanzo couldn’t quite identify, though it nagged at him. Faint noises came from other rooms as they made their way to the end of the hall and its large double doors. Someone had installed extra soundproofing. 

 

Grasping the large brass door handles, Hanzo pulled the doors wide. His guards bracketed the doorway to ensure no one followed.

 

The room was large, likely what was once a honeymoon suite. It was lit with the same lanterns and small lights as the hallway, dominated by a large bed with dark sheets. A small stage with a pole at its center sat towards the middle of the space. On it, two women and a man danced together, touching, grinding against each other to the soft beat of music. Sprawled on a nearby couch, a young woman in a red panda kigurumi sat scrolling on her cellphone.

 

Forcing himself from looking at the dancing figures, Hanzo addressed the woman on the couch, “A little bird has told me you’re behind on payments, Honoka.”

 

Honoka scowled, looking at him and pushing back the hood of her pajamas. “Suko is an old lech and we both know it.” She set her phone down. “Even more so for getting you involved.”

 

“I wouldn’t be involved if you paid on time.”

 

“Three nights a week, Suko is in here, touching my girls and spitting at my boys without so much as tipping them. And yet he still demands full tribute from me.” Honoka snorted and looked at her phone again. “He’s not getting a single yen until he agrees to the reduced rate I proposed to him, or swears to actually  _ book  _ my people instead of dining and dashing. Even better, he swears never to set foot in my house again.”

 

Hanzo crossed his arms, taking in a slow breath and letting it out through his nose. Unsurprising, all of it. “That isn’t how this works, Honoka. Suko sets the tithe and you pay it.”

 

Honoka snapped her fingers in rapid succession. The dancers slowed, looking at her, then slinked off the stage. They approached Hanzo, each with their own shade of coy smile. None of them were armed--the clothing they wore wouldn’t conceal so much as a thin shiv--but he found himself tensing despite it. The woman in front of him ran her hands down his shirt, then began taking off her thin top, pressing her naked breasts against him.

 

“This is what Suko demands for free when he visits, Shimada-san. You tell me if it’s worth nothing.”

 

The second woman was going up on her toes and pressing her lips to his cheek, tracing sensuous shapes.   

There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears. His skin was crawling, caught. Hanzo wished he felt nothing, better yet, that he’d enjoy the touches and indulge as Honoka clearly planned, but his gorge was rising in a hot push up his throat. Do not touch me, do not look at me, do not do not do not--

 

_ “Endure it.” _

 

_ “I can’t.” _

 

_ “You will.” _

 

Hands gripped his hips from behind, the hard body of a man pressing against his back, cock grinding into the seat of his pants.

 

The dark sea of anger rushed in. The crawling under his skin lashed out, biting and toxic and terrible.

 

A chorus of surprised voices refocused him. The dancers were paces from him now, cradling hands, doubled over, cowering, their eyes wide with fear as the arcs of electricity diffused.

 

He could taste their terror on his tongue under the tang of ozone. Fixing on Honoka’s face gone white with fear, he said, “Pay the tithe.”

 

Then walked from the room, past his bodyguards, down the corridor, out of the building to the car. All the while he hated, and hated, and hated, the venom of it filling his chest with writhing coils. Suko, Honoka, every elder that heaped responsibility on him, every servant that groveled and scraped and added to the illusion that he had any say in his life. 

 

Anger slowly receded like the tide. The walls of the limo closed in around him. Hanzo slumped back against the leather seat, drained, and alone. When the driver asked their destination, Hanzo couldn’t summon the words and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture until the driver turned back to the windshield and the car pulled away from the curb.

 

Hanzo chafed his hands up and down his arms. The prickling had lessened but would linger for awhile yet. Gritting his teeth, Hanzo focused on the nightscape of the city as it passed by, the window dappled with light rain. They were returning to the castle. Hanzo’s hand went to the button to roll down the privacy partition. He would choose a club, a guest house, anywhere but back to that old creaking building full of old, creaking people who demanded his obedience.

 

His hand hovered there, but for all his rage, it would not move towards the button. The words would not form in his mouth.

 

Hanzo struck the seat with his fist.  Obedient to the end. Not even his anger was his to own.

 

When they returned, he held no council that night, chasing the messenger from his presence with a glare and an icy promise to provide a debrief the next morning. He took a long, hot shower instead then lay in bed, listening to the rain patter and drip from the roof. Thunder rolled. His muscles unclenched one by one, his body starting to feel like his own again. Anger still rolled in his stomach. When had he become so docile?

 

Oni stared down at him from the wooden beams but kept their own council. For a moment, Hanzo was young again.  _ Take me away. Please. Make me wild and terrifying as a storm. _

 

_ “No promises, but I might have an idea how to help you.” _

 

Jesse McCree’s words came back to him, the only answer he had. Not an oni but he may as well be. He imagined himself going to see the big American, writhing in his chains, stripping himself down and allowing McCree’s big hands to sully him. Imagined the Elders’ reaction at their precious scion being defiled by a foreigner. It turned the anger in his gut into something else. 

 

Hanzo reached slowly under his pillow for his phone.  


End file.
